What is love?
by Traumfaengerin
Summary: Because he is bored Sherlock ends up watching TV and starts thinking about the relationship between John and himself. Fluff


This is my first Sherlock fanfiction, dealing with the only pairing I can life with: Sherlock and John.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Don't forget to leave me a comment ^^

Ah, and since my mother tongue is German, it could sound strange from time to time O.o

...

Bored.

Sherlock groaned and threw himself onto the couch, still in his dressing gown and slippers.

Being alone was so _**boring**_.

John was out, shopping, and Mrs Hudson went visiting her sister and wouldn't be back till Monday.

He needed something to distract him from the fact that it had been three days since he solved his last case. Playing the violin didn't help, the crossword puzzle in `The Times´ was already solved (hadn't taken more than seven minutes, five if his pen wouldn't had stopped writing) and Mrs Hudson had hidden his skull.

He wished John was back, but then _he_ would have to go shopping for milk, and that was even more boring.

He decided that watching TV couldn't hurt, and it was funny to predict the plot of that crappy soap operas that were broadcasted in the morning.

And maybe there was something interesting in the news.

After a short time of canal hopping he knew that there was a drought at southern Africa and that a third class actress was two timing her husband with another actor, but there was nothing interesting enough to catch his eye.

He continued zapping, trying to collect as many information out of the little sneak peaks he saw and heard in the few moments he stayed in one canal.

Woman, awful American dialect, hair professionally bleached, married but having an affair, playing the mother of twins –

Girl, South Africa, obviously malnutrition, to worried about her family to care for her looks, taking care of her siblings since her mother already passed away –

A couple, fighting, but the actors actually having an affair –

The next canal caught his attention because the girl, that was talking to her friend was speaking in the dialect of his hometown.

"_But what shall I do?", she asked, a bit bored, as if she and the other actress would have played this part for the third or fourth time until the director was satisfied. "How do I know if I love him?"_

What a stupid question, thought Sherlock. It's easy to know if you are in love, you know it because...

And there Sherlock realized that he, in fact, had no idea how it felt to be in love.

He had seen love, and the crimes lovestruck people committed, but never thought about himself as a person being able to be in love.

"_Well, its... being in love feels wonderful...", tried the other girl to explain._

So, it felt `wonderful´. But no one kills another person because he makes him feel wonderful.

The girl with the accent seemed to think similar.

"_But I feel good after a day of shopping, and I'm certainly not in love with my credit card!"_

"_No, you love someone if you feel good in the presence of that person, because he understands you..."_

Sherlock frowned. The only person who understood him – at least most of the times – was John, and he was pretty sure he was not in love with him.

"_...and you can act yourself around him, because you know that that person likes the real you..."_

Again, the only person he knew that was totally fine with his way was John. Even the motherly Mrs Hudson couldn't bare him on his moody days, but John... he simply turned up the sound of the TV and ordered food, because he knew that Sherlock would calm down a bit chewing on a piece of hawaiian pizza.

"_... and you would feel sad it the person would leave you or if something happened to him..."_

It had been awful when John covered him from that bullet last month and ended up in hospital, astonishing the doctors how he survived that shot.

Sherlock, who never cared for anybody before John moved in, hadn't slept the whole time till John regained consciousness and stayed at his side, just to pass out from exhaustion on the foot end of Johns hospital bed.

During that terrible hours he often thought what would happen if John would die.

He would be alone again, but this time missing a friend, a thing he had not know before he became flatmates with John. The flat would feel empty, he would have to talk to the skull instead to John, live without his comments and ideas, without someone who cared for him and without someone who welcomed him home.

He even caught himself planning to open Johns grave to get his head and replace it with the skull, so John would stay with him, even after his death.

"_...and you smile and laugh more if you are with the person you're in love with. He just... makes you happy."_

_The girl shrugged smilingly, obviously thinking about her own boyfriend._

Surprised Sherlock noticed that that was another thing he started doing since John moving in: smiling and laughing.

Before that he only faked smiles while trying to gain the trust of witnesses or when he managed to solve a particularly difficult case.

But since John was his flatmate he started smiling about jokes, even made some himself, and sometimes even caught himself laughing out loud.

The longer he thought about it the more he noticed how much he had changes in Johns presence. But did that mean that he was in love with his flatmate?

The girl with the dialect seemed to have the same problem.

"_Working with this conditions, I'm in love with my little sister, my parents, Henry, Sally and you."_

_Her friend had to think a moment._

"_You are in love if you think about that person all the time and want him to think about you, and you want him to keep you to yourself, don't want to share with someone other..."_

Sherlock hated it when John had a date, because that meant he wouldn't listen to him and he would spent time with his date instead with Sherlock, even though Seerlock needed John much more than his stupid date.

When John had a date he smelled wrong, especially after coming home, he forgot to buy milk and was too busy texting than to help Sherlock with his cases and experiments.

_**He hated it**_.

"_... and you feel attracted to him, you want to touch him, love to hear his voice, you imagine yourself kissing him..._"

Sherlock did not know if he was attracted to John, but he sure thought of him as good looking. Not good looking in the usual sense, but certainly had that special something.

And his voice was low and comfortabel.

In the hospital whilst waiting, _**praying**_ for John to wake up he always was touching John, holding his hand, caressing his hair and when he passed out he was holding onto Johns feet, unwilling to let go.

Since then he always made sure that John was near him, often even dragging him with him, holding him on the forearm or shoulder, as if John would be safe as long as Sherlock could feel his body warmth beside him.

He never thought about kissing John – at least not while he was awake.

But he sure remembered that vague dream, thinking back it certainly had involved a naked John and kissing, and he had woken up with an erection, the first time since his teens.

Back then he had thought it had to do with seeing John naked in the bathroom when the doctor nearly had an heart attack as he discovered that the bath tub was already occupied by a corpse and Sherlock had to carefully explain him, that he definitely could not cancel this experiment.

So did that mean that he was in love with John?

"_And I am in love with the person I feel all that for?", reassured the girl with the dialect._

"_Yes."_

"_Well, that means I'm in love with you."_

_Her friend seemed surprised, but closed the eyes as the girl with the dialect came closer to kiss her._

Sherlock switched off the TV and leaned back.

If the girl was right – and somehow it seemed plausible – he was in love with John. His flatmate. His partner.

It would not surprise the others, many of the already thinking of them as a couple, but John...

He always eagerly denied the questions about their relationship and was dating one girl after another. At least he never met the same girl twice, what meant that he was still searching.

But only searching for a girl – or would he be fine with a man too?

Even though Sherlock almost ever knew how people would react, he had no idea what John would do if Sherlock would confess to him.

Disgusted? Would he think of it as a joke? An experiment? Would he kindly decline? Or would he try to start a relationship with Sherlock?

His own ignorance bothered Sherlock. How could he not know how John would react? How could he try if he did not even know if it would end their partnership or start their relationship?

Sherlock groaned and reached for is violin.

He started to play, still thinking about John and himself.

Now that he came to the conclusion that he was in fact in love with his flatmate, his fingertips itched to caress through Johns hair, to feel his war skin, hear his warm voice and to sleep in and wake up beside him, hearing his breath and his heartbeat.

He _**longed**_ for John to come back.

The sound of the violin turned more and more melancholic, and by the time he heard John opening the door he was fighting back the need to go up and sniff at Johns pillow.

"Sherlock? I'm home!"

Sherlock lowered his violin and greeted John with a smile.

"Welcome back!"

It seemed to confuse John, normally Sherlock's only response was a demand for tea or helping hand, he seldom greeted him, let alone look up from his work.

"Did something happen?"

Sherlock, still smiling, nodded.

"I found out something really nice!"

After the look on Johns face he was wondering if he even wanted to know.

"I decided to divorce from my work", explained Sherlock, referring to his answer at the beginning of their partnership.

John needed a moment to understand.

"That means..."

"I think I've fallen in love."

Somehow John did not seem to be overly happy about it.

"Who is she? Is it Molly?"

His voice seemed to tremble, his jaws were clenched.

Jealousy?

Was he in love with Molly and did not hit on her because he thought that he, Sherlock, liked her?

He felt how that strange little bubbles in his belly stopped their dance, that they had started once John had entered the flat.

"Don't worry, I feel nothing for her. Feel free to hook her up."

He noticed the relief in Johns face and posture, and reached for his violin. Ignoring Johns hurt expression, he started to play a high, bothersome sound, combining it with other, similar horrible notes and hoped John would leave.

But he didn't. His flatmate gently wrested the bow out of his shaking fingers and put the violin on the couch table. He gently made Sherlock sit down on the couch and sat down next to him.

"What happened?", he asked clinically, as if Sherlock was a patient he had to calm down. "One moment ago you were happily talking about finding the love of your life and in the next second you are angry.

John definitely knew him too well.

"You! You happened!", growled Sherlock, suddenly feeling very tired. " You enter my live, change everything including me and you don't even take responsibility!"

John didn't seem to understand.

"What..."

Sherlock longed for his bed. If it continued like this, it seemed like he would have to search for a new flatmate first thing Monday morning.

"You storm into my life, make me fall for you and instead of taking responsibility you start dating one woman after the other!"

"Fall for me?", John sounded disbelievingly.

His tone made Sherlock look up.

It almost seemed as if John was... hopeful?

"But... you said you are married to your job!"

"Like I said, I want a divorce."

Sherlock somehow managed to smile, even though he still felt miserable.

"So the one you love... is me?"

Johns eyes begged him to say yes, his clenched fists indicating that he was scared how Sherlock would answer.

"Apparently, yes."

The next thing he knew was that Johns lips tasted like the lemon drops he always ate, and that being in love feels wonderful.


End file.
